'Of course. Just as he was aware of what was in my will.
We had no secrets from each other.'
'You and your late husband had the same attorney, did you?'
'No,' she said, 'as a matter of fact we didn't. Simon used an old college friend of his-a man I couldn't stand. I have my own attorney.'
'Well, it isn't important,' Delaney said, waving it away.
'About those four patients we haven't yet cleared-did you ever meet them personally?'
'I met several of my husband's patients,' she said.
'Usually briefly, and by accident. Is there one in particular you want to know about?'
'Joan Yesell.'
'The suicidal woman? Yes, I met her once. Why do you ask?'
'It's possible that she's given us a fake alibi. What was your take on her?'
'I only met her for a moment-hardly long enough to form an opinion. But I thought her a rather plain, unattractive woman. Not much spark to her.
But as I say, it was just a brief meeting. My husband introduced her and that was that. And now I think we should join the others.'
But before they went into the living room, she put a hand lightly on his arm.
'Thank you for keeping me informed, Mr. Delaney,' she said huskily.
'I know you're working very hard on this, and I appreciate it.'
He nodded and held open the swinging kitchen door for her. She passed close to him and he caught her scent: something strong and musky that stirred him.
They came into the living room, where the other four sat logy with food and drink.
'Doctor Ellerbee,' Delaney said, hoping to stir his friends.
'Doctor Samuelson… did it ever occur to you that the roles of the detective and the psychiatrist are very similar? We both use the same investigative techniques: endless interrogation, the slow amassing of what may or may not be consequential clues, the piecing together of a puzzle until it forms a recognizable pattern. Psychiatrists are really detectives-are they not?'
Dr. Julius K. Samuelson straightened up, suddenly alert and interested.
'The techniques may be similar,' he said in his highpitched voice, 'but the basic motives are antipodal. The detective is conducting a criminal investigation. He seeks to assign blame. But blame is not in the psychiatrist's lexicon.
The patient cannot be punished for what he has become. He is usually a victim, not a criminal.'
'You mean,' Delaney said, deliberately provoking, 'he is without guilt?
What about a psychopath who His? Is he totally guiltless?'
'I think,' Diane said in assertive tones, 'that what Julie is suggesting is that the act of murder is in itself prima facie evidence of mental or emotional instability.'
'Oh-ho,' Delaney said.
'The poor lads and lasses who kill -all sick are they? To be treated rather than punished. And what of the man who molests children? Just a little ill, but blameless?'
'And what about the guy who kills for profit?' Sergeant Boone said hotly.
'We see it all the time: some innocent slugged down for a few bucks. Is the killer to go free because society hasn't provided him with a guaranteed income? You think a total welfare state will eliminate murder for profit? No way! People will continue to kill for money. Not because they're sick, but because they're greedy. Capital punishment is the best treatment.'
'I don't believe in the death penalty,' Rebecca Boone said stoutly.
'I agree,' Diane said.
'Execution is not the answer. Statistics prove it doesn't act as a deterrent.'
'It sure as hell deters the guy who gets chopped,' Delaney said.
'He's not going to get paroled, go out, and kill again.
The trouble with you psychiatrists is that you're as bad as priests: You think everyone can be redeemed. Tell them, Sergeant.' t 'Some people are born rotten and stay rotten the rest of their lives,' Boone said.
'Ask any cop. The cruds of this world are beyond redemption.'
'Right!' Delaney said savagely. He turned to the two doctors.
'What you won't admit is that some people are so morally corrupt that they cannot be helped. They accept evil as a way of life. They love it!
They enjoy it!
And the world is better off without them.'
'What about someone who kills in passion?' Monica asked.
'A sudden, uncontrollable passion.'
'Temporary insanity?' Boone said.
'Is that what you're pleading? It just won't wash. We're supposed to be Homo sapiens-wise, intelligent animals with a civilized rein on our primitive instincts. A crime of passion is a crime-period.
And the reasons should have no effect on the verdict.'
Then they all began to argue: blame, guilt, capital punishment, parole, the conflict between law and justice. Delaney sat back happily and listened to the brouhaha he had started. A good house party. Finally…
'Did you ever notice,' he said, 'that when a killer is nabbed bloody-handed, the defense attorney always goes for the insanity plea and hires a battery of 'friendly' psychiatrists?'
'And meanwhile,' Boone added, 'the accused announces to the world that he's become a born-again Christian and wants only to renounce his wicked ways and live a saintly life.'
'You're too ready to find excuses for your patients,' Delaney said to the two psychiatrists.
'Won't you admit the existence of evil in the world?
Would you say Hitler was evil or just mentally ill?'
'Both,' Dr. Samuelson said.
'His illness took the form of evil. But if it had been caught in time it could have been treated.'
'Sure it could,' Delaney said grimly.
'A bullet to the brain would have been very effective.'
The argument flared again and gradually centered on the problem of the 'normal' person living a law-abiding existence who suddenly commits a totally inexplicable heinous crime.
'I had a case like that once,' Delaney said.
'A dentist in the Bronx… Apparently under no great emotional stress or business pressures. A quiet guy. A good citizen. But he started sniping at people from the roof of his apartment house. Killed two, wounded five. No one could explain why. I think he's still in the acorn academy. But I never thought he was insane.
You'll laugh when I tell you what I think his motive was. I think he was just bored. His life was empty, lacked excitement. So he started popping people with his hunting rifle. It gave a kick to his existence.'
'A very penetrating analysis,' Samuelson said admiringly.
'We call it anomie: a state of disorientation and isolation.'
'But no excuse for killing,' Delaney said.
'There's never an excuse for that. He was an intelligent man; he knew what he was doing was wrong.'
'Perhaps he couldn't help himself,' Diane Ellerbee said.
'That does happen, you know.'
'No excuse,' Delaney repeated stubbornly.
'We all may have homicidal urges at some time in our lives, but we control them. If there is no selfdiscipline, then we're back in the jungle. Self-discipline is what civilization is all about.'
Diane smiled faintly.
'I'm afraid we're not all as strong as you.
'Strong? I'm a pussycat. Right, Monica?'
'I refuse to answer,' she said, 'on the grounds that I might incriminate myself.'
Diane laughed and got up to prepare dinner. The women set out plates, glasses, thick pink napkins, and cutlery on linen place mats.
